Читать книгу The Easy Sin - Jon Cleary, Jon Cleary - Страница 9

‘We split up six years ago, in London,’ said Caroline Magee.

‘You’re English?’ asked Malone.

‘No.’ But the vowels had been rounded, she would never sing ‘Tie Me Kangaroo Down, Sport’. ‘We met there, were married for two years. I’m from Coonabarabran.’

Bush country: but she had brushed off the bindi-eyes and the paddock dust and the slow country drawl. She was a dark auburn version of Kylie Doolan, just a little sleeker, more sophisticated looking. But her eyes were large and frank, if still puzzled.

Malone had explained to her what had happened in the apartment. She had listened without comment, then just shaken her head. Whether in disbelief or expectation, it was hard to guess. But she did not crumble.

‘Have you been in touch with your husband lately?’

‘Yes, over the past couple of months.’

‘Shit!’ said Kylie Doolan.

Up till now neither woman had spoken to each other; indeed, Caroline Magee had hardly looked at Kylie Doolan. Malone, wiser than he played in the ways of women, had held off introducing the two till he saw how far the wife would undermine the girlfriend. He had learned a lot from an observant wife and two sharp-eyed daughters. A cop, he had also learned, could surround himself with less helpful company.

Caroline Magee looked at Kylie. ‘And you are the girlfriend?’ She made girlfriend sound like bimbo. The rounded vowels had spikes, like deep-sea mines.

Paula Decker and John Kagal sat silent; they had seen this before, but it was always worth attention. Women at odds with each other are more interesting than men in the same situation. There is more subtlety; or there was in this case. These two had been in training, though neither had known of the other.

‘Yes. We’ve been together quite a while. Here.’ Kylie looked around, staking out her claim, even though the lease had been cancelled. In, it seemed, more ways than one. ‘He never mentioned you.’

‘That’d be Errol. He always played things close to his flat little chest. Or has he put on weight?’

‘You don’t sound as if you’ve come back to – to take up with him again.’ Kylie’s tone also had spikes.

‘No. He asked me to come back to help him.’

‘In what way?’ asked Kagal.

‘I’m a computer software specialist. I taught Errol all he knows.’ She was sitting on an upright chair, her knees together, her hands holding her handbag on her lap. Yet there was no prim stiffness to her, she looked totally relaxed.

‘You knew he was in trouble?’ said Kagal.

There was a slight hesitation. ‘Yes.’

Kagal looked at Kylie Doolan. ‘You knew, too?’

She had her hesitation. ‘Ye-es.’

‘Well, you have that in common.’ Paula Decker had been silent up till now. She sounded as if she was unimpressed by both women. ‘And Errol, too, of course.’

Caroline Magee looked at her. ‘My interest in my husband is purely business. Or was.’

Kylie snorted, but Mrs Magee just ignored her.

Malone said, ‘Where are you staying? Or were you planning to stay here?’

‘No, she is not staying here!’ Kylie had sat up as if she had been bitten by a spider or something else less welcome than Mrs Magee. ‘No, no!’

‘Of course not.’ Caroline Magee’s smile could have sliced rock. ‘I’m at the Ritz-Carlton, just up the road. Errol booked me in there,’ she added. ‘He wanted me close by.’

Malone could taste the sweet-and-sour. ‘Detective Kagal will escort you back there. You can tell Mrs Magee how much Sydney has changed in the time she’s been away, John.’

‘It’ll be a pleasure,’ said Kagal, who was the only one to have caught Malone’s wink.

Caroline Magee stood up. ‘You truly don’t know where Errol is?’

‘No, we don’t know,’ said Malone. ‘I’m hoping he may call you at the Ritz-Carlton. You’ll let us know, of course.’

‘Of course.’ She had an elegance to her that Kylie Doolan, no matter how many designer labels she wore, would never have. She had come a long, long way from Coonabarabran. ‘Am I going to be under police surveillance?’

Malone wondered what she knew about police surveillance. ‘Not unless you ask for it.’

‘No, thank you.’ She gave Kylie Doolan another false smile. ‘Nice meeting you, Miss Doolan. Pity it’s all over.’

She left with John Kagal. The PE team had moved out, the Crime Scene tapes were up, there were only two uniformed officers, Paula Decker and Malone left. And Kylie Doolan.

‘What a bitch!’ said Kylie.

‘Errol really never mentioned her?’ said Paula Decker.

‘Never!’ Kylie looked as if she was about to shiver apart with anger. ‘How could he be so – so –’

‘I think you’d better move out of here,’ said Malone. ‘For a night or two, anyway. Have you got someone you can stay with?’

Kylie looked around the room, then back at Malone. ‘Yes, my sister. She lives out at Minto.’

Ultima Thule of the suburbs: about as far from these Circular Quay apartments as one could get. ‘We’ll get a police car to take you out there. We’ll keep in touch. And if Errol gets in touch –’

‘Out at Minto?’ She pushed the suburb off the edge of the world. Malone wondered if Errol Magee knew as little about Kylie as she had known about him. ‘He’ll call here if he’s going to get in touch with me.’ She waved an angry hand, as if she suddenly hated (or was afraid of) the big apartment. ‘There’s a phone in every room with an answering machine – you noticed? Bloody computers with e-mail and faxes … The bastard!’

‘Take care, Kylie.’

Malone nodded for Paula Decker to follow him to the front door. ‘Get on to your boss, ask him to set up a watch on the switchboard at the Ritz-Carlton, in case Errol calls. They’ll probably nominate a strike force, your command will be running it.’

‘Are you staying on the case?’

He grinned wryly. ‘We’ll see. I think there are too many complications in this one for a simple-minded Homicide man.’

‘I’d like to transfer to Homicide.’

He didn’t ask why; he suddenly felt old and tired. ‘Good luck.’

He left her and went home to Randwick, where there was no computer, no e-mail, no fax, only Lisa. Oh yes, there was Tom, his son, and he had a computer in his room; but Malone never looked at it, avoided it as if any virus it contained was the Ebola strain. There were the two mobile phones, without which no home today was completely furnished, but he looked on them as infectious. He consoled himself with the thought that he belonged to the last century, the further back in it the better. He wallowed in technology atavism.

He wondered if Errol Magee, linked to his world with every conceivable communication, would be heard from again.